Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock

by Jean Rabe, John Helfers (v1. 0) (epub)

  Max disconnected the call, but kept the earpiece in place.

  “Fraggin’ Johnson better call fraggin’ soon. Drek, drek, drek.”

  7

  9:05:04 a.m.

  Lone Star officers! Stop right there!”

  Sergeant Jhones Redrock raced down the alley as fast as his short legs could propel him, his long, flame-red Mohawk fluttering in the breeze. A few steps ahead, his partner, Officer Simon Chays, closed the distance between himself and a pair of human go-gangers that had been roughing up a female elf in the alley. The two thugs split up, each veering in a different direction at a T-intersection. Redrock pointed his left hand, palm up, at the fleeing ganger, and a small dart flew out to tag his target. A blinking red dot immediately appeared in his vision, telling him that the punk had turned left a half-block up.

  “Ma’am, please stay where you are, we’ll be right back,” Jhones ordered the woman upon seeing that she wasn’t in immediate danger. “Take the left one, I’ve got his buddy,” he subvocalized to his partner, cutting down a narrow alley that paralleled the main passage his quarry had taken.

  “Are you sure? Regulations say we shouldn’t split—”

  “Just do it, Chays. Loser buys breakfast.” Jhones brought up a map of the area on his cybereye and watched the tagged human’s blinking red dot as he cut back around the building, trying to get to a main street so he could blend in with the rest of the early-morning crowd. Fat chance, slot-head, the dwarf thought as he increased his pace. He wouldn’t even need to draw his real pistol for this one. Although he had every confidence in his partner’s ability to catch a punk low-life, he also kept a screen open on Chays, keeping an eye on the rookie in case he got into trouble.

  Jhones approached the exit of the narrow alley and turned on his amplified hearing, filtering out the ambient noises of the alley to focus on one sound—the rapid-fire footfalls of someone running. A small screen popped up and displayed information about his target based on measurements of the force and width of his hurried steps:

  Human Male Height: 1.6 meters tall Weight: 75 kilograms Speed: 6.2 kilometers per hour Distance: 30 meters and closing

  Scanning the alley entrance, Jhones found a dirty dumpster set flush against the wall around the comer. It suited his purposes perfectly. He waited behind it, listening to the pounding footsteps approach, the distance counting down in the corner of his vision. 20 meters—15 meters—10 meters—5 meters—1 meter—

  Stepping out from behind the dumpster, Jhones pivoted on his heel and buried his fisted cyberhand between the human’s legs. The go-ganger, who had been looking back for signs of pursuit, folded in half around the dwarfs stocky arm, paralyzed by the blow. The Lone Star cop shoved the human off his hand, sending him sprawling to the filthy plascrete, where the hood curled up in a fetal position and squalled in anguish, cupping his privates with both hands.

  “Oy, I love being a dwarf. You humans keep falling for the chamalyeh every single time.” Noticing a familiar gang symbol on the kid’s synthleathers, Redrock nudged him over onto his back. “Troll Killer, eh, boychik? You’re a bit far from your usual Wolf Bay hangout. Nu, maybe you’re messing around up here in something you shouldn’t be— besides beating up ladies of the evening? Bad for downtown business, but I guess you didn’t know that.”

  “Jhones, I got the other one, ” Simons’ voice said inside his head. “But neither one of us smells too good right now.” “Tackled him in a pile of garbage, eh? I like a cop who

  throws himself into his work. Haul yours back to the elf, and we’ll get a positive ID on these two before taking them in.” Jhones flipped the punk onto his stomach and patted him down while scanning him with his cybereye for concealed weapons, finding a set of strap-on snap-blades on his right forearm, a dead shock glove on his left hand, and a Hattori YH-1 bowie knife in a spring sheath at the small of his back. He twisted the kid’s hand behind his back while pulling out a pair of plasteel cuffs, locking them around the ganger’s wrists and activating the heat fuser to seal them shut until the suspect could be booked down at the station.

  Jhones leaned near the go-ganger’s face. “On your feet, schmuck. And if you’re thinking about legging it down the alley, I won’t bother chasing you again—M just shoot you, and save us both the trouble.” From the terrified look on the kid’s face, Jhones knew he had gotten his point across.

  He boosted the ganger up and marched him back to the alley where Simon, the other human banger and the elf waited for him. Simon was right, his collar and he both looked and smelled like they had rolled around in a Stuffer Shack’s grease pit. The human’s hands, wrapped in bloodstained rags, were cuffed in front of him, and Jhones arched a quizzical eyebrow at Simon, who shook his head.

  “Later,” he subvocalized to the dwarf.

  The elf, her lacquered hairstyle in disarray and face smudged with dirt, had managed to regain some of her poise. Now that Jhones got a better look at her, he saw that she wasn’t a prostitute at all, but a corp exec in a once-sleek Bodyline pantsuit, now torn and dirty, who had apparently taken a wrong turn while on her way to work.

  “Thank you for waiting, ma’am. My name is Jhones Red-rock, and this is my partner Simon Chays, Lone Star. I assume that you’ll want to press charges.”

  “Absolutely. These idiots made me late for my morning conference.” The elf’s face twisted into a mask of hate at the two would-be criminals.

  “Very well, let me record your positive ID of these two suspects, and then we can handle the rest of the report down at the station after your shift is over.” Jhones activated his cybereye camera and recorded the exec’s sneering identification of the two ruffians, along with her SIN, which would give him everything he’d need for further contact. “I’ll be in touch with you to set up a time to stop in. Please let me know if there is anything else we can do.”

  The elf brushed ineffectually at her soiled suit and took a deep breath as she bowed to both of them. “Thank you for your assistance. Horizon Group will be very pleased that I am unharmed.”

  Jhones exchanged a covert glance with his partner at the elf’s attempt to save face. Sure they will, chummer-san. If you were a shaikujin worth knowing, you wouldn’t be walking to work through these alleys, you’d be in an armored limo or rotorcraft. Regardless, he bowed as well, his movement mirrored by Simon. “Just doing our jobs, Ms. Tera-kuna. May I say that I hope the rest of your day goes better than your morning. Would you like a ride to your corp—” “No—no, that is not necessary, but thank you all the same. We’re close enough to the main street that I will be able to get a cab without any difficulty. Again, I thank you.” With that, the exec straightened her suit jacket, picked up her matching Bodyline leather soft-sided attache case, now scuffed and wet, and walked out of the alley with her head high. Even mussed and shaken, she still managed to radiate a haughty arrogance.

  “Maybe she’s got a chance to climb the ranks yet,” Jhones mused. “Come on, street rats, we got a nice comfy holding pen waiting for you at the Third Precinct.” He yanked his collar toward their LS modified Ford Americar patrol cruiser, and put his man next to Simon’s prisoner in the backseat. “What’d you find on the sprinter?”

  Simon glanced at the filthy ganger as he got into the passenger seat. “My guy was armed for bear, or at least what passes for it here. Check this out.” He picked up what looked like a normal riot baton from the floor of the car and handed it to Jhones, who weighed it in his hand.

  “Hm, fraggin’ heavy for a beatin’ stick.”

  “That’s ’cause it isn’t. Put both hands at the end near that small button there, then hit it, but keep this thing away from your face.”

  Jhones did so, and the expected top spike popped out, but so did two other strange features, a pair of stained steel spikes, one on each side of the handle. The Lone Star cop zoomed in with his cybereye and spotted a glint of wire attached to the point of each spike and running back to the haft, forming two taut monowire blades.

>   “Slice and dice indeed. Let me guess, this explains his hands.” Jhones hit the button again, causing all three spikes to retract back into the handle, and gave it back to Simon. He crossed to the driver’s side and hopped up, the bucket seat and pedals conforming to his reduced height.

  “Yeah, I cornered the guy in an alley, and he pulled this thing on me. While he was fumbling around with it, I grabbed the end closest to me—the correct end to hold, by the way—and hit the button by accident. He’s lucky he didn’t lose a finger or two, but he is cut up pretty bad.” “Oy, Chays. You do realize that we carry these things called guns, and that they can force a suspect to drop his weapon when used appropriately, yes?”

  The rookie looked sheepish. “Sorry, I hit my wired reflexes, and grabbed it almost before I knew what I was doing.” Redrock shook his head. “Like a kid during Chanukah, you are. All right, since we’re almost done with our shift, let’s drop these two shlimazels off and handle the report— Jhones broke off as a light flashed in the corner of his eye, signaling a voice mail message on his direct line. “Hang on a moment. Run it.”

  He listened to the message from Roland Ators, then ran it once again. “Look, boychik, I just got a message from an old friend of mine that he wants to meet me at the Anything Diner off Nineteenth. We’ll drop this pair at the precinct—and give you a chance to change into something more suitable—then go have a nosh. How does that sound? Besides, you owe me.”

  “What, no way do I owe you anything. I caught my guy, too.”

  “But not first, chaver.” Jhones tapped his head. “I was watching as you took him down. What is this when a dwarl can run down a mugger faster than a human? I have fifteen years on you, no less—”

  “Wakarimasuka, all right, all right, you win.” Shaking his head, Simon leaned back in his seat as Jhones merged onto Highway 5 and headed north, smiling all the way.

  A half hour later, the two officers pulled into the crowded parking lot of the Anything Diner in a sleeper, or unmarked patrol car. Located on the Snohomish-Seattle border, the 24-hour restaurant was popular with a wide variety of clientele, both human and meta alike, for one particular reason that was its sole claim to fame.

  “Ever eaten here before?” Jhones asked as he slid out of the car. He had changed into plainclothes for the meet, as had Simon, who had also grabbed a quick and necessary steamshower at the precinct.

  “No, but Fve heard about it. Is it true what they say about this place?” Simon wore a dubious expression as he looked at the dingy, faux-50s diner exterior of the restaurant.

  “Let’s head inside and find out, shall we?” With a wave of his hand, Jhones motioned for his partner to go first.

  The interior of the diner was crammed to capacity, with every counter chair, table, and booth filled. A dozen conversations swirled around and through each other, from the deep bass voices of three trolls taking up an entire corner of the diner, to a family of suburban elves enjoying their breakfast. Orks and humans were also present, and everyone was tucking into what looked like huge golden omelets. As Jhones watched, a skinny man in a grease-stained apron wrote something on a touch screen, which also appeared on a screen above the counter:

  ANYTHING DINER’S OMELET SPECIAL: 10 NUYEN “YOU BRING IT, WE SLING It!”

  OMELETS SERVED IN THE PAST 24 HOURS:

  RAT

  SPAGHETTI

  RADISH

  GOAT’S EYE

  BLOOD

  EGGPLANT

  FUGU

  RUM & COKE COCKROACH

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Simon stared at Jhones in disbelief. “They’re kidding, right?”

  In answer to his question, a waitress brought out a steaming platter to a table of orks who were definitely out-of-towners, dressed in brightly colored robes, head wraps and capped golden tusks. Hoots, cheers and catcalls followed in the dish’s wake.

  As the platter passed the two cops, Jhones saw the look on his partner’s face. “Still had the legs on, eh?”

  “You can’t be serious—we aren’t possibly going to eat here?”

  “Hey, one man’s pleasure is another man’s poison. Relax, they serve normal fare as well. And no one has gotten sick here in the last ten years. So the owner claims.” “Yeah, what about before then?” Simon shuddered. “And what about the health inspectors? I’d think they’d have a field day here.”

  Jhones patted him on the arm. “Oy, don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine. Look, a counter chair just opened up, grab it while you can. I just spotted my guy at the table, but there’s only room for one. I’ll fill you in when we’re done.” “Uhh—okay.” Simon squeezed in between a dwarf who looked like he had spent the past decade on the street and a well-dressed elf shoveling down a heaping Denver omelet. Jhones made sure his partner was reasonably comfortable, then threaded his way through the crowd to the small table. “Hoi, Roland, it’s good to see you.”

  The sec man nodded, his face grave. “It’s good to see you, too, Jhones. Still clinging to those sergeant’s bars, I see.”

  Jhones grabbed a menu and scanned it. “Well, I didn’t frag off from my Lone Star tour of duty and take a lucrative job sitting on my hoop in the private sector like some people I know.” He waited for Roland to riposte with another verbal jab, but heard only silence. The cop slid the menu down to peek at his companion, only to see the human’s brow furrowed, obviously lost in thought. A waitress sidled over, and Jhones set the menu back down. “Hummus omelet, and realcaf, please.”

  “Just an English muffin for me, and realcaf as well,” Roland said, running a hand over his cropped hair.

  Jhones cut to the chase. “All right, chaver, what’s got you so verklempt, eh?”

  Roland leaned forward over the table. “First, this has to stay off the record. If you can’t do that, then this meeting is over. I’m asking you as my friend, not as a cop right now, okay?”

  Jhones had known the sec man sitting across from him for two decades, ever since they were both green recruits at Lone Star. Even after Roland had left the corp to go into private security, they had stayed in touch, helping each other numerous times over the years. In all that time, the dwarf had never seen the man like this. “No prob, boychik, just fill me in on what’s going down.”

  Roland started talking, and when their meals arrived, Jhones let'his grow cold as he absorbed the details of what had happened at Plantech earlier that morning. “Our CEO doesn’t want to bring in Lone Star or UCAS especially; if they think rogue biotech is on the street they’ll go crazy, tear us and the streets apart looking for it,” Roland finished, his hands wrapped around his coffee mug.

  “Plus, you wouldn’t want Shiawase to get wind that their delivery has vanished, either, would you?” Jhones’ smile never came close to his eyes. “That wouldn’t help your bottom line if they got the plants first, eh?”

  Roland sighed. “Touche. Look, I give you my word that none of the plants are dangerous, we just want the chance to get them back first. The team that swiped ’em is small, with at least two elves, an ork and a bow-and-arrow-wielding troll, which should stick out if they’re all still hanging together. We’re beating the street right now as it is, and with any luck we’ll find them first. All I’m asking is if you get a line on these slots, you give me a holler first, okay?”

  Jhones sipped his caf and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t promise you anything, Roland, but you know I’ll do whatever I can if these ganefs pop up on our radar. If we find them, as long as my partner and I can get credit for the bust, I think we can work something out.”

  “Thanks, chummer, I was hoping I could count on you.” Roland pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ve downloaded the chase route to your personal account. I would really appreciate it if you could shoot over as many vid bytes as you can to me. I’ve already taken care of breakfast, and I’ve got to get back on site. Let me know if you hear anything, right?”

  “Nu, what breakfast?” Jhones pushed his untouched plate away an
d swallowed the last of his realcaf. “You’ll be the first one I call after backup.” He slid off his chair and followed Roland toward the door, signaling to Simon as he passed.

  “So what was that all about?” the rookie asked as they headed to the car.

  “Pull up anything on an attempted break-in at Plantech agricorp this morning from our database,” Jhones said as he climbed into the driver’s seat just as his commlink went off. “I got another call. Bring up that file and I’ll bring you up to speed.” Then he turned his attention to his call. “Redrock here—yeah, Fve got a minute—what? What do you mean you just sold me!”

  8

  9:06:58 a.m.

  Sindje fumed with every pace up the stairs. Ahead of her, Khase flitted from step to step like a ghost, leaving no sound in the stairwell.

  Don’t think I don’t know why we’re taking the stairs, brawd, she thought. The street mage knew her brother was hoping that the physical action would take the edge off her displeasure, but instead it fueled it even further. Cachu, he knows I don’t like to perspire!

  The two elves reached the top of the building, and Khase fed the card through the lock and popped the door. They stepped out, blinking at a rare sight for them: the morning sun. The apartment building was on the edge of a short peninsula of land that jutted out into Puget Sound, forming the bottom part of Elliot Bay. The rooftop gave them a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the sound and the naval traffic that plied the waterway. The sunlight glittered on the blue-green water as if a giant hand had cast a fistful of diamonds on the tide, almost painful to look at, yet hypnotic at the same time.

  Khase stepped to the edge of the building, standing on the lip like he was waiting in line for a theater show, unaware of the stiff breeze blowing at this altitude. Sindje kept her distance, comfortable enough on the roof’s broad plain, but unwilling to get closer than five meters to the edge. Above them, a dozen giant windmills sliced through the air, their whirling, broad blades providing power to the building.